


A Little More Rotten

by electricmisso



Category: Chilling Adventures of Sabrina (TV 2018)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-10
Updated: 2019-01-10
Packaged: 2019-10-07 12:42:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,286
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17366045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/electricmisso/pseuds/electricmisso
Summary: "We went into it together, and we're coming out at the end together. It's straight down the line for both of us, remember?"





	A Little More Rotten

**Author's Note:**

> Spoiler Alert: for the teeniest, tiniest detail of Riverdale S1 and also the full-on plot of a movie that came out in 1944.

On the spectrum of strange sightings one might witness in the world, Zelda Spellman leaving her house to indulge in mortal culture was somewhere between a June blizzard in the Northern Hemisphere and Bigfoot - not necessarily impossible, but certainly jarring. Something in her nature had always found other people, even magical ones, exhausting, and her distaste for them had become increasingly potent in recent years. Maybe it was the sinking inevitability of their perpetual stupidity, watching them foul up in the same ways, decade after decade. Or perhaps it was that, despite the many strides their world had made away from puritanical social mores, it was now all but illegal for her to smoke in public. You could ask Zelda to tolerate humans or go without a cigarette in small doses, but certainly not both at once.

The one thing that could draw her out, into the dull and perilous land of mortals, was a trip to the pictures. Zelda had been enamored with them from the start; watching what she’d seen in stage productions come to life before her eyes, a collection of canvas and light. Grainy silent films and all of their crude glory, growing into talkies, then blooming technicolor; it was as if mortals had discovered their own kind of magic. It was the one thing they’d ever done right.

In the past, when the thrill was new, she and Hilda had frequented the movies together. But as will all things, their tastes diverged ever so starkly, and it became difficult to enjoy each other’s company at the theater. Hilda loved schmaltz, weepies and Capra pictures, but worst of all: musicals. Zelda could at least appreciate the aesthetic value of the early Busby Berkeley ventures, but once they reached the 1960s, with bloated three-hour road shows and oversaturated Cinemascope drivel, she could no longer endure their sisterly jaunts.

Zelda, on the other hand, was rather captivated by film noir; she felt at home in their clouds of smoke and death, loved watching women deliver blows to men who deserved them. She favored the femme fatales, of course, and continued to emulate them in her own style of dress and disposition. But beyond aesthetics, Zelda was drawn to, turned on by, imperious femininity as much as she wished to possess it herself.

In years past, the Paramount Theater had been an ideal location for her moviegoing, as it held regular classics screenings and remained somewhat of an undiscovered jewel until the 90s, when the Greendale Promenade became the loitering site of choice for the local youths. She then switched to the Twilight Drive-In on the South Side of Riverdale. Despite the unsavory surroundings, she was granted relative privacy. Even if any juvenile delinquents or randy teenagers had the urge to bother her, people tend to avoid stern women in hearses if they’re given a choice in the matter. But, one evening, when she arrived for a Fritz Lang retrospective, Zelda discovered the place permanently shut down, and covered in vulgar graffiti. 

So the Bijou on the North Side would have to do. Zelda considered the place substandard, too newfangled for her tastes, and constantly crawling with teenagers, but at least not ones that would have reason to recognize her. Their classics options were far more scattershot, only appearing once or twice a month under the banner of special “retro” events, a phrase which made Zelda recoil.

Tonight’s showing was _Double Indemnity_ , a long-time favorite of Zelda’s. While the showing was clearly not sold out, she did note what she assumed to be a number of first dates, boys hoping to use a little black and white to telegraph intelligence, more suave than they actually possessed. Any man who took a woman to see this film in particular was unwise, as it didn’t exactly portray romantic endings, or the men that offered them, in a flattering light. That was exactly what Zelda liked about it. She thought her companion might like it, too.

Mary did seem to be enjoying herself, blithely chomping on overpriced popcorn, legs resting upon the seat in front of her allowing Zelda a spectacular view. _She certainly knows how to make herself at home anywhere,_ Zelda thought, as she observed the shadows and light from the screen reflect off the other woman’s face.

_“What’d you think I was, anyway? A guy that walks into a good looking dame’s front parlor and says, ‘Good afternoon, I sell accident insurance on husbands. You got one that’s been around too long? One you’d like to turn into a little hard cash? Just give me a little smile and I’ll help you collect.’ Boy, what a dope you must think I am.”_

“I do miss lugs like that,” Mary said between bites. “Now every man thinks he’s one great speech away from being the next prolific Western philosopher. I yearn for the days when men were stupid and knew it.”

It was Mary’s abject hatred of the male species that made Zelda first take notice of her niece’s teacher; she was the only person in or around the coven whose hatred of Faustus Blackwood was practically broadcast on every available frequency. Zelda found it odd, if warranted, that she so loathed a man she must’ve barely known. But their mutual disdain for patriarchal authority bonded them. In more ways than one, of course. There had been no discussion of labels, as they both seemed content to carry on, tucked away from the eyes of the coven - lovers was too sentimental of a term, and Satan forbid either of them be puerile enough to use _girlfriend_. Zelda liked to think of them more as co-conspirators; keeping a secret, guarding a flame.

She’d forgotten to answer Mary, had become too hypnotized by the motion of her red lips. “Well, you can hardly blame the man,” she said finally, chuffed. “Who wouldn’t throw it all away to bow at the altar of Barbara Stanwyck?” 

“You do have a point. They just don’t make mortal women like they used to, do they?” 

“Well,” Zelda began, wishing she’d had a cigarette to drag as an to underscore her point, “studio executives scoured every inch of this country to find the prettiest girls and drag them in front of their cameras. We only ever see the highest percentile of mortal beauty in the movies.” 

Mary’s blue eyes darkened. “Then it’s a good thing I’m content to gaze upon beautiful witches.” 

_“Right then it came over me that I hadn’t walked out on anything at all. That the hook was too strong...that this wasn’t the end between her and me. It was only the beginning.”_

“Excuse me.” Both women broke their gaze, turning to scowl at a well-coiffed young fellow two rows to their front. “Would you mind quieting down so the rest of us can enjoy the movie?”

Zelda was steeled for a tirade, ready to coldly eviscerate this schoolboy and teach him to properly respect his elders. Years of living alongside mortals had taught her to make them cower with words while keeping her magic sidearmed. But Mary, apparently, had no such desire for concealment.

“We do mind, actually.” Mary eased her shoulders back, power and conviction coursing through her spine. “But you don’t,” she said to the boy. “Not anymore.” 

She didn’t even have to move or utter a spell for the boy to turn around, facing the screen with eyes glazed over. 

For a witch Zelda had never heard of, Mary’s command of her powers was rather exceptional; a great loss must have been felt in her former coven. She’d noticed that, as they grew closer, Mary had become more comfortable showing the full scope of her abilities, brandishing her magic in ways she was even reticent to flaunt in front of Sabrina. If she was trying to impress Zelda, it was working. Not that she’d ever let that on too much. 

“Where were we?” said Mary, content that their foe was sufficiently oblivious. 

“Oh, you know,” Zelda responded with a cheeky grin. “Mooning over movie stars like teenagers.” 

“Who would I be, Zelda? If I were a movie star, I mean.” 

She didn’t hesitate “Oh, Dietrich, certainly: a taste for pussy and cheekbones that could kill a man.” 

Mary always seemed to ride a speeding carousel of emotions; it wasn’t hard to make her laugh. But some compliments drew out a devilish grin, the one Zelda was looking at now, that made her feel positively ravishing. 

There had been stories about Dietrich, of course. And Stanwyck, and Garbo, and Hepburn, and so on; the Golden Age of Hollywood was quite the buffet of sapphic delights, it seemed. Zelda hadn’t visited the American West during those years, but she wondered if Mary had. In fact, Zelda spent much of their time together wondering about Mary’s past, attempting to fill in pages ripped out of her story, by the witch herself or someone else. 

“And what about me?” Zelda preened, lifting up her chin with pride to display her full profile. 

Mary deliberated silently, longer than her companion appreciated. “You remind me a bit of that lovely teacher from _The King and I._ ” 

She scoffed, slightly appalled. “I remind you of someone in a musical?!” 

“Only in the face, I meant.” Mary’s eyes grew large, as if she hadn’t meant to trip this particular landmine of Zelda’s; they knew how to push each other’s buttons, so to speak, but only so far as to tease one another to enjoyment. “The hair, the skin, the rosy cheeks...I think she plays a horny nun in something else if you’d rather remind me of that.” 

Mary Wardwell was nothing if not frustrating, sexually and otherwise. No matter the number of volleys back and forth between them, of banter or lustful glares, she always retained the edge of mystery. As many times as they’d seen each others bodies bared, for Zelda to admit out loud that she found the other witch quite beguiling, even with clothes on, made her vulnerable. Mary was always ready with a quip, or a bit, and so Zelda was too. 

“Well, I hope you have fun, off galavanting with the other teutonic bisexuals. I’ll be too busy minding after a gaggle of royal younglings.” 

“Miss Spellman, Mary drawled, “if anyone can understand the sensuous appeal of a school marm, it should be you.” While their eyes were still locked, Mary shifted up the arm rest separating them, giving her the room to swing both legs over Zelda’s lap, hitching up her already short skirt to intoxicating heights. _Maybe there are benefits to the upgrades in these newfangled theaters,_ Zelda thought. 

_“Nothing had slipped, nothing had been overlooked. There was nothing to give us away. And yet, as I was walking down the street to the drugstore, suddenly it came over me that everything would go wrong. It sounds crazy, but it's true, so help me. I couldn't hear my own footsteps; it was the walk of a dead man.”_

She intended to halt their progressing flirtation, take back the wind she’d put in Mary’s sails. “You know,” her voice returned to it’s usual levels of haughtiness, “if I was just interested in funny business, we could have just stayed home.These ticket prices were positively exorbitant, so I’d like to watch the film if you don’t mind.” 

Mary scoffed, rolled those immense blue eyes, legs still draped over Zelda’s lap like silk. “Pardon me for assuming the film was simply our mood lighting, and that I was to be your entertainment.” 

“Darling, you entertain me for free; I paid good money to watch a man get fleeced for all he’s worth.” It was more than that of course, and one had to pay close attention to take in the scheme’s true grandeur; she couldn’t simply listen while lavishing Mary Wardwell’s entire body, enticing as that idea may have been. Just listening to the words, Phyllis would seem hysterical and weak-minded, nothing more than a common tart. That was because it was all in her eyes: fire, lust, cruelty, everything a woman standing in her power deserved to feel. It positively electrified Zelda, just as it had that first time seventy-five years ago. She thought Mary would enjoy it too, hence the invitation, despite the fact that the other woman was easily...distracted. 

“Of course,” Mary purred. “How could I forget how turned on you get by evil women scheming and stupid men suffering?” 

“It’s absolutely genius.” Zelda pontificated, her eyes alight with enthusiasm. “She plays innocent, right up until they fuck; she lets him think his cock opened all the doors, when really it was her plan all along.” She eased back into her seat, her hands relaxing on the tops of Mary’s thighs. “Their egos always do them in in the end, don’t they?” 

“Satan willing,” Mary replied, practically raising a glass that she didn’t have. “So where is this going? Does she lock him up in her big mansion and keep him as a sex doll? Or kill him and serve him in a stew to that fetching stepdaughter?” 

“Unfortunately not,” Zelda frowned. “The worst part about these movies is that a committee Christians got to dictate how all of them ended. Anyone who commited a crime or did anything they considered ‘immoral’ had to be punished by the finale. No one ever gets away with anything. They managed to ruin many a great picture for me.” 

“But not this one?” Mary asked, seeming genuinely curious. Her head had relaxed onto Zelda’s shoulder, contorting her waist so that she was all but mounting her lover’s lap. 

“I manage to focus on the good in this one. Or the bad, as it were.” She grinned. “I just ignore the last five minutes or so.” 

“What happens in your version?” Mary asked, like a proverbial devil on her shoulder. 

“Well, he still dies, certainly. That’s the good bit.” 

“Spoilers!” Mary exclaimed with faux offense, making Zelda smirk. 

“I suppose she gets the money and drives as far away as she can, laughing, never having to tie herself to a man again.” 

Mary’s breath grew hotter on neck. “Do you think she meets a nice girl?” 

“I’d certainly hope not.” Their eyes finally met again, both pairs brimming with desire. “Nice girls are quite uninteresting.” They lingered on each other, seemingly caught at an impasse, both breathing heavily with anticipation. 

“Zelda?” 

“...Yes, Mary?” 

“If you don’t care for the ending, does that mean I can finally have...your attention?” 

At that, Zelda surged forward, lips colliding with Mary’s. Her arms enveloped the other woman’s waist, in large part due to her urgent need to touch every inch of Mary Wardwell’s body, but also to keep said body from careening down to the concrete floor while they writhed. 

Still locked in their embrace, Zelda angled to lay Mary down on her back, put their joined seats and lack of armrest to good use. It was still uncomfortable, of course, but partaking in this act here was clandestine, and dangerous, just like Mary herself. Zelda had a knack for smelling the age on another witch, as did any connoisseur of fine delicacies. But she found the scent on Mary Wardwell rather discombobulating; she was all at once matured, but with unripe flesh. Zelda had never seen, or tasted, anything quite like it, and she hungered for it like nothing else 

She hovered above the body she coveted, one heeled foot remaining on the ground to stabilize them both. Her lips left a trail of small bites down Mary’s neck while hands pawed at Zelda’s chest, attempting to bring them closer. If she didn’t know any better, Zelda would think that Mary wanted her off-balance. 

_“We’re both rotten, Walter.”_

She remained steady, despite the assortment of ministrations being both given and received. However, Mary was faster, and sought out Zelda’s center before the other woman even noticed her skirt being raised. 

_“Only you’re just a little more rotten.”_

It took all of Zelda’s strength not to collapse on top of her lover entirely, crush the arm, hand, fingers that were coaxing at her pleasure. Her hips began to undulate in time with those fingers, two inside and a thumb at her clit. Mary had many talents, but her heightened dexterity was certainly one of Zelda’s favorites. 

Her lips and teeth remained latched onto Mary’s neck, but despite Zelda’s attempts to maintain control, moans still crept from her throat. Any sense of decorum was beyond forgotten, and while she kept her voice low, Zelda simply prayed to Satan that the rest of the theater’s patrons were more focused on climactic gunshots than the two wanton witches in the back row. 

Zelda’s hands couldn’t gain any purchase toward Mary’s waist; her attempts to match the other woman’s heated overtures were quickly falling behind the pleasure building in her core. She could hardly focus, and any stability grounded in her legs had melted away. Zelda changed the course of her clutches from Mary’s thighs back to her face; if she was left no choice but to succumb to desire, she would do it while gripped tightly to Mary Wardwell in a forceful kiss, moans echoing between their mouths. And as she came, mouth agape, Mary bit her bottom lip, crushing those echoes with teeth. 

They kissed languidly until the house lights went up. Not only had film ended without either woman noticing, but all of their fellow theatergoers had gone, leaving Mary and Zelda alone with a cleaning crew of teenagers, sweeping up the mess before the next showing. 

“Quick,” Zelda motioned to the end of their aisle. “Let’s get out of here before they see us.” 

“They won’t,” Mary responded while attempting to right herself, although there wasn’t much use; squished between theater seats, her unkempt hair and wrinkled dress made it seem as if she’d been fucked in a very small wind tunnel. “I cloaked us with an invisibility charm after that boy made such a fuss.” 

Zelda had lost the capacity to be shocked by Mary’s flagrant displays of magic in public, but was still grateful, as she was sure her moans had been louder than anticipated. “Still,” she continued, “I’d rather not get trampled by a stampede of brooms. Let’s make haste.” She grabbed her coat, purse, the hand of her lover, and then they fled. 

Mary was still giggling as their heels clicked onto the sidewalk. Zelda was less visibly amused, but sated down below, where she could still feel the pulse of recent orgasm between her legs. But Mary was still feeling flirty, and when they reached the hearse to head home, she began kissing Zelda’s neck while she fumbled with her keys. 

“I’ll cross a lot of lines for you, Mary, but we are certainly not copulating in this parking lot.” Mary laughed again; she always reveled in making Zelda uncomfortable, and then _extremely_ comfortable. 

“Just one more kiss for the road,” Mary pouted, gently turning Zelda towards her, using considerably less force than she displayed inside. 

“You were never going to let me leave that theater without getting fucked, were you?” 

“Of course not. What kind of companion do you think I am?” 

Zelda gave a knowing smirk. “It’s always a plot with you, isn’t it?” 

“Yes. And I know you love it,” Mary replied as she kissed Zelda once more. 

Perhaps she was a fool, falling so freely into the clutches of this mysterious woman she hardly knew. Perhaps she was no better than the dopes in her pictures. And perhaps, right now, with Mary Wardwell’s lips bound to her own, it didn’t matter. 

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. thank you so very much for reading! i fucking loved writing this, as i've been a classic film fan for forever, and everyone has already made the Zelda/film noir connection, so i wanted to flex all those muscles at once. i hope you liked reading it and this isn't just an insular vanity project mess!  
> 2\. back on my external reference bullshit with this fic again, especially the Riverdale ones, but i miss the drive-in tbh, and you know these two would roll with the Serpents. also EXTRA bonus points if you caught the Drag Race shout out. i can't be stopped and i'm (not) sorry.  
> 2b. in my head the boy that bothers them in the middle of the fic is Kevin Keller because of course he would be watching this and also kill the mood.  
> 2c. look roberto! i can reference old movies too!! hire me to make every woman on your shows a lesbian xoxo.  
> 3\. speaking of, lez be friends! @electric-eccentricity on tumblr.


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